Alternate Title: Things my son will never forgive me for writing when he is 14.
It was Tuesday. Matt, Jack, and I had gone out for dinner and an evening diaper run, and upon our return home we realized it was only 15 minutes 'til bedtime for Jack. We decided we should just skip his bath, and let him have his nightly nudey time. (He gets wicked diaper rash so we like to let him air out every night. He, too, likes this.)
As usual he walked and crawled excitedly around the living room while babbling in his own little language. Matt and I puttered around, folding laundry, paying bills, etc. We were there with him, but we were each sort of doing our own thing. Jack made his way over to the bottom of the stairs where he likes to stand and yell at the dog. Suddenly I heard Matt say "Oh my gosh" in a tone that could only mean one thing.
Matt has a poop tone. In the last year I have come to know his poop tone very well. I hurried over and sure enough, there was our dear little boy proudly standing over his...accomplishment. I rushed to grab my camera because, hello, I need to document this! As I got my camera up to my eye Jack moved.
He stepped on it. In it. Matt shrieked. Jack slipped. I laughed. As Matt struggled to pick him up, Jack more or less body painted in his own excrement.
Needless to say, we pushed bedtime back a few more minutes to squeeze in a thorough bath.